


Behind the Venetian Shutters of His Office, They Kissed

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Pressa / Cover Story (Icelandic Drama)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Ficlet, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, M/M, Rough Kissing, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: I thought that this great Icelandic drama deserved a presence on AO3, and who better to share the love than Nökkvi and Gestur - who pretend to hate one another and are always squabbling in the office, but you know they really want one another deep down. One is extremely grumpy and the other a bit of a smug bastard, which is an excellent recipe for some serious sexual tension. And I love balding men with beards in Icelandic sweaters, so I felt compelled to send a little love their way.





	Behind the Venetian Shutters of His Office, They Kissed

Nökkvi often really pissed off Gestur with his 'holier than thou' attitude towards journalism; Gestur, in all honesty, annoyed Nökkvi in pretty much _everything_ he did. In fact, annoyed was the wrong word - he frustrated him beyond all comprehension - totally crippled him with exhaustion. Gestur secretly _liked_ Nökkvi, whereas Nökkvi wanted to ram Gestur's head into the screen of his computer monitor most of the time, and that was anything _but_ a secret.

The office pool table was the latest source of argument between the pair of them. He had told Gestur to get rid of it on numerous occasions and, yet, it still remained, as large as life in the middle of the editorial space. Despite warning him, Nökkvi never really felt as though he could _force_ Gestur into anything - he'd had countless reasons to fire him in all the time they had worked together and, still, he _didn't_ . And he wasn't exactly sure why that _was_. Maybe he secretly _liked_ Gestur too.

Maybe he had liked the coy way that Gestur had chewed on his lip, _smiled_ , clicked his tongue against the side of his mouth and shook his head sweetly as he'd chastised him over the pool table. "Fucking get real, man," he silently berated himself. However, the words 'over the pool table' were conjuring up rather more graphic images in his mind - ones which he simply _couldn't_ shake. There had been many younger, shall we say, 'ambitious' men find their way into his office, eager to climb the ladder, eager to to do whatever it took to get that promotion. But Gestur wasn't one of them; he was established as a reporter, an accomplished writer and an _impossible_ conquest. And that only _enhanced_ his appeal.

He'd been thinking about it, all too _vividly_ , since their conversation over lunch. They'd been talking about Stina earlier on in the day, stood around the coffee machine, and about how no one _knew_ she was bisexual. But, then again, how could you? Who knew about her, yes, but who knew about _him_ \- who knew about _them_ ? When Gestur had commented on the fluidity of human sexuality, he'd watched as the straight-laced Nökkvi had nodded along, speechless. And then, meeting at last with Gestur's gaze, he'd blushed profusely, involuntarily and much to his own irritation. "Yeah... you never really _know_ what people are into, _do_ you?" he had said, quietly.

Gestur had mentioned to Stina how, in their earlier days, they had flirted. Now, he was starting to realise that she wasn't the only member of the workforce who had been flirting with him for all of these years; Nökkvi, in his own way, had been flirting with him too. And, now that the door to his office was closed and the blinds were down, Gestur knew he would be in for a good dressing down - for the eighth time today - over the pool table he'd brought in from his friend's garage. But, the _table_ in question, he would _turn_ on Nökkvi.

"Gest--" his mouth was captured in such a desperate and, yet thoroughly smug, kiss. How anyone could come across so needy and yet so self-assured in the same motion was anyone's guess, and a skill surely only unique to the expert manipulator that _was_ Gestur. The balding man considered protesting against the kiss, but his usually stern and unapproachable demeanour was softening by the second, his tongue caressed by another, hands roaming his upper torso and pulling at his woollen sweater. And when Nökkvi's back hit the wooden Venetian shutters and they rattled loudly, the staff - who were trying to listen in to the conversation, and who were surprised _not_ to hear shouting inside - assumed Gestur must have _pushed_ Nökkvi, and that they were _fighting_.

"Fuck," there was a gasp. He looked over to his thoroughly debauched lover; Gestur's usually hair-sprayed to perfection style was all out of shape and his mouth was red raw with stubble rash from its collision with Nökkvi's beard. "If you want the pool table _that_ much, you can keep it - fine," he'd whispered, smirking. He couldn't let him get away with too much though - it just wasn't like him. "But I'll want to see you _earn_ it, Gestur."


End file.
